Yesterday I went in to Vancouver so I could go to Dressew and look at fabric. Last time we were over at my son’s place, Erica was on the floor furiously coloring pieces of paper, then gluing them together. She finally wrapped it around herself and asked me to tape it in the back. It was a costume she was making for herself. She is so great at design, and not yet 6 years old! So I thought it might be a good birthday present (May 18, same day as my Dad) to buy some colorful and easy-to-handle fabric that she can cut and tape (or Velcro). Dressew is a vast emporium of fabric and notions that draws people from out of province. Some of it was outrageously expensive, $25 a meter, but I did find some great remnants for $2 and some glittery fabric for less than $5 a meter. I got a lot of different things for under $25. This is what's so great about that place, but I noticed the yarn stock had been drastically cut. I do wonder if stocking all that yarn was a bit of an experiment. The stuff that was left wasn't too practical to use. There are all sorts of costume accessories out now, which is strange because it's nowhere near Halloween (and Mardi Gras has passed). Do they cater to the trans-bi-queer-masquerade community, I wonder? Bill and I took the train home together, which is always pleasant. The 4 seats face each other, and a middle-aged couple sat across from us. They were maybe in their mid-40s. He had a shaved head. Both were maybe 30 or 40 lbs. overweight. At once it became obvious they were a "couple", though I initially thought from his gushy manner that the man was gay. (Forgive my stereotyping, but that’s what I thought. I wondered if it was one-o’-dem Liza Minnelli type-a things.) We had to put up with this all the way home as they made out, held hands, smooched and snuggled. They each had a full backpack with them, which made me wonder if they were running away. I remembered a similar couple on our European trip, and Bill muttered, "Second marriage." It does make you wonder what the backstory is. To cope with all their murmurings, I started reading things to Bill out of the Georgia Straight, a newspaper which used to be underground but is now overground, except for the eight-page full-color spread for hiring hookers in the back. There's a new movie called Hanna starring a young actress called Saoirse Ronan (whom I saw in The Lovely Bones - she was good). We had a contest to see who could pronounce her name (though I think it's something like "Shuh-res"). Then I saw one of the Straight’s inimitable restaurant reviews for a pizza place where they cook the pizzas for "about 90 seconds" at 900 degrees F. They described vinegar this way: "velvety, barrel-aged 12-year-old Reggio Emilia San Giacomo balsamic vinegar", prompting Bill to say, "I prefer the white stuff." Then I said, "Shall I read Savage Love to you?" He said "probably not", so I read only bits of it. Most of these people seemed to fall between the gender cracks (if you will excuse the expression). Dan Savage referred to "one of those guys who are into transwomen and/or born-male-trans-genderqueers-who-live-as-female-but-aren't-quite-passable", a handle nearly as long and confusing as the vinegar (and how can vinegar be "velvety", anyway?). I sat there for a while trying to figure out the meaning of "passable". Does it mean he/she can "pass" in the old racial sense, or does it mean the person is a real bow-wow? There’s no use pretending. I can’t keep up.
Since it's Sunday, I think it's time for a little confession.
I watched that goldern show about Ted Haggard. That TLC show. Which means it's likely the debut of a new reality series (and surely we need another one of those!)
He's the guy, remember, the pastor of about a million churches nationwide, that uncomfortably weaselly-looking sanctimonious guy who. . . well, he used to denounce gay sex, and drugs along with it. But like Jimmy Swaggart before him, he was soon on his knees (oops, wrong expression) in repentence. Nevertheless, his church threw him out with a resounding thud.
What I have trouble with, and what a lot of people are having trouble with still, is how he now denounces the gay sex he had with a male "escort" who threw in a little crystal meth to sweeten the deal. He insists, stridently, over and over again, that in spite of having sex with a man, he's "not gay". (Also says he didn't use the meth, either. Hmm, let's have a look at his teeth.)
My husband's not gay either. So is he ready to call up a male hooker any time soon? How many hetero married evangelical pastors call up drug-addicted male hookers for a date anyway?
(Hey, an infamous quote suddenly comes to mind, one that made it into Bartlett's Quotations: "I did not have sex with that woman, Miss Lewinski.")
This Haggard guy has bafflegabbed his way through a very rocky recovery. Then he got an idea (an awful idea, some would say. . . a wonderful, awful idea) to start his own church. In a barn.
All that's missing is Mickey Rooney saying to Judy Garland, "Hey, let's put on a show!"
His barn church will be "open to all, even those who have committed the darkest sins". Apparently it will stress "acceptance". Even of the darkest sins.
Hmmm. I have a little trouble with this. It will "accept" the most awful, evil, slimy people who ever crawled the earth, those scum-bags who can't get into a "real" church to save their lives. But why does he welcome all these worthless people? Because then Pastor Ted will fit right in. Compared to all this pond scum, he'll come up pretty righteous.
I have to admit, however, that as I watched this thing unfold (with Part I written all over it: the TLC execs no doubt had their finger on the pulse of the ratings), it seemed to me as if something sincere was trying to come through.
Even as he enabled the voracious needs of a slurring addict who'd lost everything and arranged for her to stay at a fellow parishioner's home (!!!!!), there was a sense that he was trying. Trying for something.
The trouble is, he's an Elmer Gantry and doesn't even know it. Does he think he's gay? If he did, he'd probably kill himself. Or his wife would kill him.
So he has jumped back into the closet, but hey, since he was branded such a sinner, that allows him to counsel and pray and dither over REAL sinners who maybe are gay.
His sons look exactly like him, which is creepy. His wife is a total codependent with no personality of her own, the "good wife" of TV repute. Evangelists invented the concept of "stand by your man", after all.
If this series flies, and maybe it won't because Part I was pretty limp and uninspiring and public opinion of Haggard still so negative, they're going to have to punch it up a little. That "barn" looks like a storage shed gone to seed, with plywood walls and old chairs dredged up from an episode of Hoarders. If they were going for Abe Lincoln log-cabin rustic sincerity, they missed by a mile. If this is the only facility they can afford, they better pack it in, or else rent a hall somewhere.
But still. It could get interesting to see Haggard get involved in "counseling" people who are way out of his depth. They might really be gay and he might have to tell them to give it up! (Like he did. Ooops, no! Because he's not really gay.)
There are already churches kind of like this that claim to truly welcome the sinner, but I have problems resolving their ultra-conservative and fiercely judgmental theology with that open, inclusive, come-unto-me philosophy. Also, the folks that will be attracted to Haggard's makeshift storage-room church won't have any political clout, or any money either.
So, the question comes up once again. Do people get paid to do reality TV?
Well, do they?
They get their rehab paid for in sunny resorts with horse ranches, personal trainers, crystalline beaches and a masseuse. Makes ME want to turn alcoholic for a while.
They get their hoard-crammed, miserable, urine-soaked, vermin-crawling, stinking holes of houses bulldozed for free, along with concerned counselling by that crinkle-browed therapist who always asks them, "Is this bringing anything up for you?" (While the rest of us just bring up.)
It's all part of the ingrained theory (see another Ted by the name of Williams) that anyone can be redeemed if you throw enough money at them. Everyone's potentially employable and emotionally balanced. They just have to get that awful childhood trauma out of the way.
What bizarre myths we promote! If Haggard really does attract the kind of people he says he wants, they will be manipulative, lying crack whores and felons and pimps. But at the same time, they will be blisteringly honest, attacking any weakness they can find in their fearless leader.
If this succeeds, watch out, Ted. They will destroy you unless you truly confess what you did, and who you are.
Yesterday I went in to Vancouver so I could go to Dressew and look at fabric. Last time we were over at my son’s place, Erica was on the floor furiously coloring pieces of paper, then gluing them together. She finally wrapped it around herself and asked me to tape it in the back. It was a costume she was making for herself. She is so great at design, and not yet 6 years old! So I thought it might be a good birthday present (May 18, same day as my Dad) to buy some colorful and easy-to-handle fabric that she can cut and tape (or Velcro). Dressew is a vast emporium of fabric and notions that draws people from out of province. Some of it was outrageously expensive, $25 a meter, but I did find some great remnants for $2 and some glittery fabric for less than $5 a meter. I got a lot of different things for under $25. This is what's so great about that place, but I noticed the yarn stock had been drastically cut. I do wonder if stocking all that yarn was a bit of an experiment. The stuff that was left wasn't too practical to use. There are all sorts of costume accessories out now, which is strange because it's nowhere near Halloween (and Mardi Gras has passed). Do they cater to the trans-bi-queer-masquerade community, I wonder? Bill and I took the train home together, which is always pleasant. The 4 seats face each other, and a middle-aged couple sat across from us. They were maybe in their mid-40s. He had a shaved head. Both were maybe 30 or 40 lbs. overweight. At once it became obvious they were a "couple", though I initially thought from his gushy manner that the man was gay. (Forgive my stereotyping, but that’s what I thought. I wondered if it was one-o’-dem Liza Minnelli type-a things.) We had to put up with this all the way home as they made out, held hands, smooched and snuggled. They each had a full backpack with them, which made me wonder if they were running away. I remembered a similar couple on our European trip, and Bill muttered, "Second marriage." It does make you wonder what the backstory is. To cope with all their murmurings, I started reading things to Bill out of the Georgia Straight, a newspaper which used to be underground but is now overground, except for the eight-page full-color spread for hiring hookers in the back. There's a new movie called Hanna starring a young actress called Saoirse Ronan (whom I saw in The Lovely Bones - she was good). We had a contest to see who could pronounce her name (though I think it's something like "Shuh-res"). Then I saw one of the Straight’s inimitable restaurant reviews for a pizza place where they cook the pizzas for "about 90 seconds" at 900 degrees F. They described vinegar this way: "velvety, barrel-aged 12-year-old Reggio Emilia San Giacomo balsamic vinegar", prompting Bill to say, "I prefer the white stuff." Then I said, "Shall I read Savage Love to you?" He said "probably not", so I read only bits of it. Most of these people seemed to fall between the gender cracks (if you will excuse the expression). Dan Savage referred to "one of those guys who are into transwomen and/or born-male-trans-genderqueers-who-live-as-female-but-aren't-quite-passable", a handle nearly as long and confusing as the vinegar (and how can vinegar be "velvety", anyway?). I sat there for a while trying to figure out the meaning of "passable". Does it mean he/she can "pass" in the old racial sense, or does it mean the person is a real bow-wow? There’s no use pretending. I can’t keep up.
